


stop, au nom de l'amour (avant qu'il soit trop tard)

by strawberryicebreakers (TheUltimateFandomer)



Category: Papillon (2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Brief Descriptions of Injury, Dreams, Liberal Use of the French Language, M/M, Makeup, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Rough Oral Sex, and as always, but like not really described all that much, i mean he's a mime, the mime!dega fic we've all been waiting for, this time in french!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-30 09:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17826455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUltimateFandomer/pseuds/strawberryicebreakers
Summary: A sequence of dreams allows Henri to realize what he's ignored for months.





	stop, au nom de l'amour (avant qu'il soit trop tard)

**Author's Note:**

> this is for you, tony. [salutes]
> 
> in all seriousness, though, I've seen the mime scene too many times to count. mime!dega creeped me out at first, but he grew on me, especially after the "this is a good escape" scene.
> 
> my three years of honors french being useful? shocking!
> 
> song for this fic: stop, au nom d'lamour [claude francois.] first heard it when I saw x-men: days of future past, and it's been stuck in my head ever since.
> 
> enjoy, you gremlins.

When they put him in darkness, when the blackness seeped out from every corner of the room and coated him in anonymity, Henri thought he would never see again. His emancipated body, a shell of what used to be the man known as Papillon, felt as though it was minutes from giving out. After all, what else was there to fight for?

He would never return home to France, Henri isn’t enough of a fool to believe that. Nennete had moved on, he was certain of it. She loved him, and he loved her, but she knew the chances of him getting out were slim to none, and she would never wait on a whim. In all honesty, all he had left was Dega.

Dega, who he’d fought for within hours of meeting him.

Dega, who he’d put up with all of this time.

Dega, who he’d abandoned in an attempt at escape. Henri had left him without a thought, only hearing cries of  _ “Papillon!”  _ drain out behind him as he dodged bullet after bullet. Dega’d been at the mercy of the guards and his fellow inmates ever since, and yet-

Dega, who’d sent him coconuts at the cost of his own depleting currency and safety.

Dega, who’d sat with him and heard out his half-thought plans.

Dega, who’d been with him since day one, trailing behind him with innocence unbefitting a prison, eyes like a does’ hidden behind glasses, an ever-present pout on full lips, _ and an ass that could hold more than a small capsule filled with francs,  _ his mind supplied.

Eyes wide, Henri felt his face burn even though the other man was nowhere around.  _ Not the time _ , he thought. He would have time to consider  _ that _ on other nights, nights when he was near Dega and able to see that his foolish fantasy would never play out. The other man had a wife, for Christ’s sake. It was immoral to think of him like that.

Henri shut all thoughts of Dega out of his mind, determined to sleep. If he couldn’t find peace in life, he could find it in unconsciousness.

-

Time, whether a singular minute stretched for an eternity or hours flying by, had passed, and Henri felt no closer to rest than he had once the moon appeared above him. He’d paced his room, careful to ensure that his footsteps released no noise, and yet he still could not sleep. 

Laying down onto the poor excuse of a bed, he shut his eyes. His hands found the fallen shirt he wore during the day, and he pressed it over his eyes. Even through the forced darkness, added on by the cloth set on his face, he could not find peace. His hands left the cloth, gravitating to his throat, and he gripped, cutting off his air supply at its’ core. 

His conscious bled out, and blissful unawareness took its’ place as Henri fell asleep.

-

The first thing he felt was the sheets he’d had on his bed, many months ago. He stuck out a hand, feeling out for company, and took Nennete’s hand in his own, drawing her close to his chest. She stared forwards, silent, with eyes that didn’t fit her face. Her lidded gaze seemed far away, not in Paris, not even in France. His own gaze slid shut, allowing himself to live in this rare moment of peace.

Henri knew, as Nennete fell out of his arms minutes later, that he should feel more. His relief should lie with the woman he loved, not with the bed he lay in. He should take this opportunity to hold her, to kiss her, to love her as she deserved, not to simply relax as she left him. 

_ And _ , he thought as her arms moved down her bare back, red nails against white skin with a pale green gaze tied to him as she turned her head,  _ he should not wish that another took her place instead. _

His mind replaced the white back in front of him with tan, freckled shoulders leading to a  small waist. The pale green eyes turned deeper, with blue splashed in as though a paintbrush had dipped into the palette and its’ colors bled through. Her hair, already at her ears, grew shorter, curling where there had only ever been straightness before.

A completely different figure sat before him; Nenette was no more, and that gave Henri a feeling of freedom he embraced as much as he feared. He leaned forwards, hands smoothing the other man’s sides and grabbing his waist, pulling him back into the bed. The man let out a huff, eyes rolling as a small laugh left him upon seeing the smirk Henri wore. Sheets pooled around the men as the smaller man lay on his back, sweetly looking at his partner as Henri nudged his legs apart. He slid in, relishing in the tight heat of the other man as he braced himself on his forearms. He worked him slowly, lazily meeting the other man’s mouth as he thrust inside. They had all the time in the world.

He felt the other man tense, holding himself back. Henri looked down at him, at the pinched brows and screwed-shut eyes.  _ “Venir, mon cherie,” _ he said, hand gripping the other man’s cock.  _ “Venir pour moi.” _

The other man let out a gasp, lips curled around the sound as he let himself go loose. Henri was soon to follow, with a harsh grip on the bed sheets as he felt his hips stutter, snapping once, twice, thrice before coming inside the smaller man.  _ “Tu fais moi fou,”  _ Henri said, letting himself fall onto his back. The other man’s head lay pillowed upon his chest, with his hand tracing circles upon the arm wrapped around his shoulders. He breathed out, mumbling words that Henri could not hear, even in their close proximity.  _ “Quoi?”  _ Henri asked, free hand thumbing at the smaller man’s mouth.

Green eyes locked onto his, and Henri felt a chill run down his spine.  _ “Pourquoi,”  _ the man said, louder. He grew restless upon seeing his partner’s lack of reaction, ripping himself out of Henri’s arms and moving to the edge of the bed.

_ “Quoi faire tu signifie?”  _ Henri sat up, confusion turning to horror as he saw the other man’s back grow torn. Previously unmarred skin became bloody, rips slashed into it with no source to be found. The other man’s breath grew ragged, gasping for breath as each streak grew in size.

_ “Pourquoi as-tu fait  _ _ ç _ _ a?”  _ His voice, shrill with pain, etched itself into into Henri’s mind.  _ “Pourquoi m’as-tu laissé mourir?”  _ He stared at Henri, shaking as he waited for him to say something, anything.  _ “R _ _ é _ _ ponse moi, Papillon!” _

The name clicked something into place for Henri; hearing it said like that, as though he was cursed with his own name by someone who knew no other word to describe the betrayal he felt, was the final puzzle piece.

“Dega?”

The other man, no, Dega, snarled at the sound of his name. His eyes narrowed as his body turned, unnaturally stiff arms pulling him forwards to Henri. His nails grew, forming daggers sharp enough to maim, tearing into the sheets.

_ “Je suis désolé,”  _ Henri said, shutting his eyes to avoid the hurt displayed by the other man. He felt the sheets drag out from under him, a sure sign that Dega had reached him. Nails raked down his arm, the arm that had lovingly draped around Dega shoulder only minutes ago, but before he felt them dig deep enough to hurt, they faded into nothingness.

-

Henri opened his eyes, expecting to see Dega in front of him, but all he saw was jet-black metal within a stone wall. A scoff behind him alerted him to the other person in the room, and turning around, he saw Nennete.

“Hurry up, would you, Papillon?” she asked, annoyance at his pace present as her fingers ran over the wine bottle she’d snagged on their way in. “I don’t want to miss the circus.”

“Yeah,” he said, going back to the safe. He felt it, moving the dial and smirking as he heard it click open. A small box lay inside, and Henri tore the lid off.

Gold, not as much as he’d hoped that he’d find in a rich house like he was in, along with a few pieces of jewelry, were stored within the box, and Henri took great care in emptying them into his bag. Everything, with the exception of the necklace he’d passed to Nennete, went in, and he placed the bag inside his inner coat pocket. He stood up, taking Nennete’s arm in his, and strode out of the home before the owners could find them.

Outside, he paused, taking a moment to wrap his head around the experience he’d just had and trying to remember the man it was with, but his mind drew a blank. Nennete tugged on his arm, impatient, and they walked away. 

On their way to the circus, Henri dug two cigarettes out of his pocket, lighting them and passing one to Nennete. She took it, placing it between her lips and removing it periodically between sips from the wine bottle. 

Seeing the complete lack of emotion on her face, with her only concern being the bottle wrapped in her hand, Henri wondered what he’d seen in her all of those months ago.

-

The circus was in full swing by the time they got to the Moulin Rouge. A circle formed around the performers, thick with people in various states of inebriation as they laughed at the workers. Henri pulled himself and Nennete to the front, wanting to see the circus as well as possible.

He recognized the sword juggler, along with a mime wearing a long dress, but the others seemed to be new. He watched the man wrapped in chains struggle for a moment before a flash of red caught his eye.

An umbrella, twirling even through the lack of rain, angled to cover the face and shoulders of the main holding it. Henri turned to look at the juggler once more, and when he turned back, the unknown mime stood in front of him, unnervingly still arms bent upwards, trapped within a box. He finally got a good look at the man, and felt taken aback.

The mime wore a red and white striped shirt, cuffed at the neck and wrists in white, with pants of the same pattern. A black bow-tie wrapped around his throat, and cotton gloves covered his hands. Hair slicked back, his face shone through without cover. His face, coated in white, had black lines curved around the top lid of his eye, and another black line with a teardrop underneath each bottom lid. Thin black lines, arched in a mock eyebrow, rested on his forehead, and yet, none of this is what drew Henri’s attention.

No, what caused his focus were the black lips, elegantly drawn on with crisp edges. Something within Henri wished to feel the mime’s face; to hold it within both hands and see if the makeup smeared onto his hands.

The mime turned to the side, hand flat against an invisible barrier, before moving to face Henri once again. As his hand moved to bang upon the unseen wall, Henri felt the air around them change.

-

It seemed to happen within a blink; one moment, they were at the Moulin Rouge with no worries in the hearts, and in the next, Henri was back in his cell, back in his destroyed body. The only thing that remained was the mime. Said mime’s hands turned to fists, slamming upon the air with such ferocity that Henri was afraid that he’d be struck. 

The mime’s hands flattened, and the scene disappeared once more.

-

In front of the Moulin Rouge once again, Henri found Nennete in his arms as the circus progressed into the night. The performers walked in a circle, displaying their talents. Stopping in front of them, the mime with the lips held his red umbrella in one hand as he crudely thrusted into the air. Nennete howled with laughter, sinking into Henri’s grip as he chuckled, albeit a bit uncomfortably. The air moved around them, yet himself and the mime stayed in place.

-

As Henri found himself back in his cell, he suppressed the urge to groan. The mime was still with him, which was oddly comforting to see. A hand, raised to his mouth and clothed in white, held in position as if holding a cigarette.

Henri leaned in, and breathed as the other man mimed lighting it. Shocking himself, he felt smoke curl inside his mouth, and he let it out with a smile on his lips.

The mime smiled, back, white eyelashes framing beautiful eyes as his black mouth curled into a grin.

-

Lying flat on his bed, Henri woke up. To his right, he saw the handprint he left, streaked down the wall, but as he stood up, it morphed into something else.

A safe within the wall, a mimic of the one he’d cracked into during his dream, sat before him. He reached out a hand, running his fingers down the cool metal. The combination was still in his mind.

_ Six,  _ he thought, moving the dial.  _ Two, twenty-four.  _ The safe clicked, and Henri tugged on the door, yet it refused to open. 

_ Don’t panic,  _ he thought, trying the combination again. “Six,” he said, aloud this time, “two, twenty-four.”  The door remained locked. Henri’s fists pounded against it to no avail, and he lay back against the wall in defeat. He closed his eyes.

-

He felt himself standing, felt his body as strong as it used to be, and Henri knew he had traveled once more. There were no noises to be heard, with the sole exception of the breathing of another. Henri opened his eyes, and saw the mime standing before him. His legs jerked as he carried himself towards Henri, who waited for him. Evidentially, this mime meant something to him, and he knew he should figure out why before the scenery changed again.

The mime stopped, looking up at him. He smiled, teeth showing as black lips pulled away, and his eyebrows rose. “This is a good escape,” he said, and Henri knew where he recognized the mime. He was the man that had come from Nennete, the man he’d made love to, the man he’d hurt without malice.  _ He was Dega,  _ his mind told him.

_ No; _ he thought, _ he was Louis. _

He was Louis, who he’d been the protector of. He was Louis, who he’d taken care of when he fell sick from the bat’s wound. He was Louis, who he’d fought for, who he’d die for.

He was Louis, who he loved.

Henri wasn’t sure when the line was crossed, when a protective instinct turned to friendship, which in turned formed love. He wasn’t sure when, but he knew that in this moment, that he loved Louis Dega.

“Papi?” Louis asked, confusion in his voice at the emotions flickering across his friend’s face.

Henri snapped out of his thoughts, and realized that if he didn’t say something soon, he may never work up the courage to do so again. “Louis, may I ask you something?” he asked, voice soft.

“Of course,” Louis replied.

“May I kiss you?”

Louis sucked in a breath, eyes wide as he stared up at Henri. He said something, yet too quiet for Henri to hear. 

With a hand on the other man’s jaw, Henri tilted Louis’ head up to his own. “A bit louder, please?”

“Yes, Papi,” he said, leaning into Henri’s hand. “I said yes.”

A smile broke across Henri’s face as he dipped down to meet Louis. Their mouths met, slamming together hard enough that Henri could feel his teeth clack against Louis’. He took the smaller man’s lower lip and bit, not enough to hurt, but just enough to feel a shiver go through Louis’ body. Henri’s hands left Louis’ jaw to slide down his back, feeling the dip of his spine and the swell of the other man’s ass in the tight-fit pants. Using both hands, he grabbed the smaller man’s ass, feeling Louis moan into his mouth at the display. “You like that, Louis?”

“Yes,” he breathed, groaning as he felt Henri kneed his ass. “God, yes.”

Henri hooked one arm around each thigh, and picked the mime up with ease. He walked to the side of the Moulin Rouge and pressed Louis’ back against the hard wall. Feeling his cock harden, heavy in his suit trousers from the pressure of Louis pressed against him, Henri rolled his hips.

“Wait,” Louis said, panting. “Wait, Papi.”

“What is it,  _ mon  _ _ cœur _ ?”

“There’s something I’ve wanted to try,” Louis said, “but you need to let me down.”

“Okay,” Henri said, gently taking his hands out from underneath the smaller man and allowing him to stand on his own. “What is it that you’d like to try?”

“This,” he replied, and sank to his knees. His makeup, already smeared from sweat to the point that his face was almost back to his original skin tone, was virtually gone, save for the his lips. They still had the black color upon them, but the edges had begun to blur from the frantic pace he’d kissed with. He motioned towards Henri’s waist with his head. “May I?” he said, mocking Henri’s earlier phrase.

“God, yes.”

Using his teeth, Louis removed his gloves before finding the zipper on his partner’s pants, exposing Henri to the outside air. “No undergarments? Classy, Papi.”

“Henri,” he said, threading his hand into Louis’ hair. “Call me Henri.”

“Yes, Henri.”

The feeling of a bare hand against his cock, flushed with heat, came close to causing Henri to lose himself instantaneously, but he managed to hold himself together. He saw Louis’ tongue dart out, wetting his lips, but nothing could’ve prepared Henri for the feeling of a feather-light kiss to the head of his cock. “Fucking hell,  _ mon cherie _ ,” he said. Louis took the head of his cock, already coated with precome, and mouthed at it, lipstick smearing with come across his face. Henri’s head thudded against the wall at the sight. 

“I must be honest with you,” Louis said in-between mouthing at the cock in front of him and rubbing at Henri’s sack, “yours is easily the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“It is?” Henri said, genuinely curious. 

“Yes, Henri. In fact,” he said, licking a stripe from base to tip, “I think it’s the perfect size.”

“Thank y-,” Henri began to say before feeling the air knock out of him as Louis took the head of his cock in his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Louis.” He tightened the hand in Louis’ hair, feeling Louis moan around his cock. He began to work down to the base of Henri’s cock, taking as much as he could in his mouth. His cheeks hollowed out as he sucked, but his pace was slower than Henri liked. “May I be rough with you?” 

Louis pulled off of his cock, coughing for a moment before giving an affirmation. He took a deep breath, and took the cock in his mouth once again. Henri fisted his hair, and pulled his head towards the base of his cock forcefully. He felt Louis gag on his cock, tears beading in his eyes at the strain of it, but he didn’t show that he wished to stop. In actuality, the opposite occurred; he let out a keen, muffled by the cock in his mouth, and attempted to drive the cock deeper into his mouth. He got down to the base of Henri’s cock, and Henri took ahold of his hair once more, bringing him to the tip of his cock before driving him down on it once more, slamming all in at once. “Oh, fuck,” Henri groaned as he repeated the motion, fucking into Louis’ face. “Christ, you’re beautiful like this.”

Louis moaned, shaking, and Henri saw the front of his pants darken. “Did you-,” he said, moaning. “Did you come from sucking my cock?”

He pulled off of Henri, gasping for breath. “Yes,” he said, thighs trembling at holding himself up. “The question is,” he said, aiming for cockiness but missing it by a mile, voice scratched and sore, “will you?” With that, he slid back onto Henri, taking the initiative as he fucked his own mouth onto Henri’s cock. Henri groaned as he felt the head of his cock hit the back of Louis throat, and that, combined with the utter  _ wreck  _ that was Louis Dega, caused him to release, coming down Louis’ throat.

Henri pulled himself out, and if it weren’t for the oversensitive state of his cock, he would’ve grown hard again simply from the sight of Louis on his knees, hair back to its’ natural curls from tugging and sweat, with black lip color mixed with Henri’s come smeared across his jaw. He saw Louis swallow, and he bent down, scooping the smaller man into his arms the way he’d always pictured himself doing to Nennete.

_ Somehow _ , he thought, looking down at Louis’ blissed out face turned towards his shoulder,  _ I think I prefer this to anything else I could’ve had.  _ He carried Louis to a hotel down the road, stepping through the door with a smile on his face.

-

Hours later, Henri awoke in darkness and silence, completely alone.

**Author's Note:**

> y'know how I try to rewatch any scenes that I write out straight from the source in order to get them as accurate as possible? if I EVER have to hear papi's choked out gurgles again I'm going to gouge my ears out. it's so nasty but it's the transition scene between papi to the dream sequence so I had to get it right and just :/
> 
> writing the hair metaphor made me laugh. "straight hair going curly," i.e, henri, you're bisexual.
> 
> I didn't want to write the rest of the dream sequence. I have homework. sue me.
> 
> this is probably one of the more ~poetic~ stories I've written, at least until the porn.
> 
> speaking of the porn, I went back and forth on whether or not the nennete-turned-dega scene should have them fuck in it or not. decided to do it, but not describe it. keep everything for the finale, y'know?
> 
> the first half of this fic, also known as How the Fuck is Nennete Spelled? cycled through nanette, nenete, nenette, nanete, and nennette before finally giving up and checking the character list. fucking nennete? seriously? why couldn't she just be named anna or something.
> 
> I am so Pissed Off because I planned on stop au nom de l'amour being The Song I Wrote This With but halfway through the nennete bed scene I turned on lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off by panic at the disco and,,, that kinda turned into the song. whoops. the phrase "will you dance to this beat and hold a lover close" has been stuck in my head since I heard it back in 2015. also like,,, the whole first stanza kinda dega @ papi if dega had a single dominant bone in his disaster twink body.
> 
> also like,,,, I have a Lot of Thoughts on the dream sequence. mainly, the anonymity of "the other man" [who we all know is dega] during the nice part of the first dream scene is something I liked, kinda like papi was still trying to accept the fact that he wants to fuck dega into the eighth dimension.
> 
> also x2 I'm fucking cackling that the first time I write honest-to-god papidega, they have sex in the missionary position. it's,,, so vanilla but I feel like papi would want to make their first time all about love.
> 
> also x3 the ~monster~ dega begins to morph into at the end of the first dream scene is the half-wendigo josh washington from until dawn. props if you recognized that!
> 
> I wrote this ENTIRE FIC with the intention of the oral scene and,,, it's my least favorite part. huzzah.
> 
> deadass I put on lipstick and used the back of my hand just to figure out the schematics of how it would smear. talk about dying [my hand] for your craft.
> 
> I KNOW the last sentence is a dick move and I'm not sorry for it.
> 
> I'm a sucker for a few different things, and "may I kiss you?" is one of them.
> 
> I promise I'm working on the multiple mazlek fics I've started, I just can't focus on them for some reason right now :( 
> 
> as always-comments fuel me! on here or in my inbox on tumblr [@ramimalekbi], I love hearing from y'all!
> 
> goodnight, y'all.


End file.
